Valentine's Day
by BlueSilverPandas
Summary: Valentine's Day is tomorrow and John can't wait to finally celebrate it with Sherlock. The only problem? The detective has completely forgotten about it. Johnlock, oneshot.


Happy Valentine's Day everyone! What started out as a short ficlet typed up in my Sherlock chat group has now been edited into a full-fledged story for the world to see. After all, what better way to celebrate the day of love than with adorable fluff of my OTP?

Dedicated to all the awesome people in my Sherlockian chat group, without whom this story would not exist 3 Enjoy!

* * *

It was a chilly day in mid-February, nearly a month after John and Sherlock had finally gotten together. During this time, they were slowly settling back into the rhythm of things and getting used to spending time together as a couple. As it turned out, it wasn't too different from when they lived together as friends, except that now they could stop pretending they didn't constantly want to kiss each other.

Nearly a month in, and John still can't get over the fluttery feeling that arises in his stomach whenever he presses his lips to Sherlock's. Even the smallest of pecks was enough to send the butterflies his way and cause Sherlock's cheeks to flush a delicate shade of red.

John couldn't remember the last time he'd been this happy, and now that he had a reason, he never wanted to let it go.

One day, while doing the grocery shopping in Tesco's, a lady with a shopping cart brushed past him and sent him bumping hip-first into the display nearby. She apologized quickly and carried on her way, but the action caused John to stop short and take a closer look at what he'd bumped into.

It was a candy display, just like any other one typically found in a British supermarket, but still different from the others. It was red and white and full of more hearts than he'd ever seen before in his life. That was when John suddenly remembered.

February.

The fourteenth.

Valentine's Day.

 _Tomorrow._

John's face broke into a huge smile as he suddenly grew very excited for the upcoming holiday. He'd been in relationships during previous Valentine's Days, it was true, but this one was different, unique, special. He wasn't spending it with just anybody this time around. _He was spending it with Sherlock._

That thought alone meant that John could barely keep the grin off his face as he began browsing the selection of assorted chocolates, wondering which one Sherlock might like the best. Since it was their first Valentine's Day and he'd previously expressed a distaste to overly-processed sugar, John figured he should get Sherlock something smaller, something simpler. But this was _Sherlock_ they were talking about here, so might doing so be seen as too cliché, even for a romantic like John?

After pondering on it for several minutes, John decided to faff it all and settled on a medium-sized heart-shaped box of chocolates with a small selection of flavors. It was Valentine's Day for Christ's sake, and Sherlock deserved to experience a proper one.

As he made his way towards the register to pay for the groceries, John's mind began working overtime to figure out where he could purchase a dozen red roses and which restaurants were still accepting dinner reservations (which John _would_ be paying for, because that was a _thing_ that boyfriends did, thank you very much Mister Sassy Detective with a Trust Fund).

After he paid, John began the walk back to Baker Street and allowed his mind to wander towards what the latter portion of the evening would surely entail. He was just getting to the part where Sherlock was on his knees and begging for mercy for the second time when he entered 221B through the front door and practically skipped up the stairs.

"I'm home!" he called out.

"Bedroom!" came Sherlock's response.

 _Speaking of which..._ John's mind teased impishly as he set down the grocery bags and followed his boyfriend's voice into his – ahem, _their_ – bedroom.

However, once he got there, he was surprised to see the room in a state of near total disarray that, while not dissimilar to the rest of their home, was still surprising when it came to Sherlock. The detective's clothes, which consisted primarily of stylish suits and collared shirts, occupied nearly every available surface. Just as John thought he had seen the entirety of his boyfriend's closet, he spotted Sherlock himself over by the wardrobe, still carrying more.

"Oh, hello there!" Upon seeing John, Sherlock moved quickly across the room to press an affectionate kiss onto the shorter man's cheek before returning to his task. "Welcome back."

John smiled at the gesture, but grew confused when he saw the empty suitcase lying on the floor. Turning towards Sherlock, he raised an eyebrow.

"Are you going on a trip, love?"

"Yes," answered Sherlock. "And so are you. We've got a case!"

"Another one?" asked John, for they had only just finished solving their previous case yesterday. But business was business. "Where to?"

"Gavin didn't say," responded Sherlock. "But apparently it's a good one – a triple murder with no leads, no suspects, and no witnesses whatsoever!" He jumped excitedly in place. "It's practically Christmas!"

Anyone else would have been horrified upon hearing such words, but John couldn't help but smile fondly at the younger man's enthusiasm. Obviously, it was contagious.

"That's great then," he said. "When are we leaving?"

"Tomorrow," said Sherlock. "Graham said he'd meet us at the train station to sort out the details."

"Tomorrow?" John's previous excitement died down a little. "But that's–"

"What?" asked Sherlock, the picture of innocence. "What's tomorrow? Have I missed something?" He ceased moving around the bedroom for a moment to gather his thoughts.

"It's not your birthday," he mused. "And it's not _my_ birthday, and it can't be our anniversary because we've only been going out properly for about a month now." He paused. "What _am_ I missing?"

John was shocked. "You… you don't know what tomorrow is?"

"No," asked Sherlock. "Am I supposed to?"

John opened his mouth to tell him, but Sherlock suddenly cut him off.

"Oh!" he cried out. "I know what tomorrow is!"

"You do?" John smiled with relief.

"Yes!" said Sherlock. "February 14th, the birth date of Benjamin Baillaud!"

John's stomach dropped. "What?"

"Benjamin Baillaud," said Sherlock. "French astronomer, born 1848, founding president of the International Astronomical Union." He smiled proudly. "That's right, isn't it?"

"Yeah," John masked his disappointment and forced a smile, even though he'd never heard of this Benjamin Baillaud person before in his life. "Yeah, that's it."

"Would hate to forget that, wouldn't I?" Sherlock seemed strangely oblivious to the change in John's composure as he continued to make his way about the bedroom, grabbing various items and tossing them in the direction of his open suitcase. "Important day, that one."

"Yeah," John's voice grew quieter as he sighed in resignation. "Yeah, it is."

Glancing over his shoulder, Sherlock finally appeared to take notice of the shift in John's demeanor as the latter stood stock still in the center of the room, arms crossed over his chest and staring at the floor. Setting down the suit jacket he'd planned on packing, Sherlock went over to John and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, pulling the doctor close to his chest and resting his cheek on top of his head.

"I love you," he said softly.

The way he said it, so plainly yet with so much sincerity, was enough to lift John's dejection just the tiniest bit as he unfolded his arms and wrapped them around Sherlock, resting his head against the taller man's chest.

"I love you too," he responded.

Bringing his head back, he found Sherlock smiling gently down at him and couldn't help but grin back. Damn it all, no matter how much he tried, there was no way John could ever stay truly angry at Sherlock, especially when the detective was looking at him like that. Standing on his tiptoes, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss onto the latter's waiting lips.

Sherlock responded in kind, tilting his head to one side and reaching up to gently cradle the back of John's neck. They stayed like that for several minutes before they finally broke apart, Sherlock's face already taking on that telltale flush.

"Now then Doctor Watson," he said. "I believe you ought to get packing. We leave very early tomorrow morning."

"All right love," John smiled. "I'll get to it."

Pulling away from Sherlock, he made his way over towards the chest of drawers and began rummaging inside for his own sets of clothing. Even though he wasn't feeling as sad as he was a few minutes ago, he couldn't deny that a part of him was still disappointed Sherlock hadn't remembered Valentine's Day.

 _You stop that,_ John's mind told him firmly. _Just because he forgot that tomorrow is a romantic holiday doesn't mean that he's forgotten about_ _ **you.**_ _You know he loves you._

Of course John knew that Sherlock loved him. Not only did he tell him that on a regular basis, but he also made sure to _show_ him at any given opportunity. What the detective lacked in social graces he made up for in pretty much everything else – doing the dishes, making him tea, and commenting on every single one of his blog posts, just to name a few. After the absolute train wreck that his last relationship turned out to be, John considered himself very lucky to even get the chance to be with Sherlock at all.

Deep down though, John was still just the tiniest bit sad. Valentine's Day was supposed to be a day about love, and there was nothing the doctor loved more on this planet than one William Sherlock Scott Holmes. He'd been looking forward to being able to express that love in every way he knew how, but clearly that would have to wait.

 _Oh well,_ he sighed as he grabbed a second suitcase in which to neatly place his clothing into. Such was life, and it couldn't be helped. While John packed though, he tried not to think of the simple chocolates that were still tucked away in the grocery bags downstairs, chocolates which he'd hoped Sherlock would understand the significance of.

 _It is what it is._

The next day, John and Sherlock woke up bright and early and, after a quick breakfast, went down to King's Cross station to meet Lestrade. Despite every fiber of John's being wishing that the two of them were still cuddled up in bed, John followed Sherlock closely to the designated meeting point, yawning all the way.

"All right now, gentlemen," said Lestrade when they got there. "As promised, here are your tickets. Train leaves the station in half an hour, make sure the both of you are on it."

"Thank you, Geoff," said Sherlock, taking the tickets and immediately handing them off to John. "I'm sure we'll have no trouble."

Lestrade smiled wryly as he looked back and forth between the pair. "Keep me posted, fellas."

Turning around, Sherlock began walking towards the platform where the train would be leaving from while John trailed closely behind him, eyes skimming over the tickets to see exactly where they would be going today.

"Hang on now, Sherlock." John stopped in place on the platform as his eyes widened in surprise. "We're going to _Paris?_ "

"Hmm?" Sherlock paused and turned around to face John. "Oh, yes, it would seem so," he said airily. "Ever been?"

"Uh," John stared at Sherlock in astonishment. "No!"

"Me neither," Sherlock's eyes danced with mirth. "But I hear it's lovely, especially when there's murder afoot. Come along, John!" He shouted, beginning a brisk walk towards the loading area. John stared at him for another long moment, before quickly darting off after him.

The train ride itself was several hours long, and John slept for most of it. He'd attempted to stay awake while he tried to figure out exactly what Sherlock was up to, but the gentle lull of the train combined with the familiar and comforting scent of Sherlock were both enough to knock him right out, and he wound up drifting off onto the detective's shoulder.

Sherlock gave another smile, a soft, tender one that John couldn't see, before turning towards his phone to go through the details of the case before their arrival. A few hours later, the train finally pulled into the station, and Sherlock was sadly forced to nudge John's head from the proximity of his shoulder.

"John," he said gently. "Wake up, we're here."

"Hnn," Wincing a little, John sat up fully in his seat and stretched his arms out above his head. "Already?"

"Time flies," Sherlock couldn't help but grin before standing up to grab his and John's suitcases from the rack above. "Speaking of which, we have none to waste. Come on, John."

Yawning, John took hold of his luggage and followed Sherlock off the train and onto the platform. The pair made their way quickly through the crowded station, before finally stepping outside and into the busy city. Once there, Sherlock was able to hail a cab to take them to their hotel, and John couldn't help but be impressed as he spoke to the driver in perfect French.

"I didn't know you knew French," he managed.

"Hmm?" asked Sherlock. "Oh that," he said nonchalantly. "I learned it in school a long time ago. Wasn't sure if I'd ever need it, but I suppose it never hurts to be safe, does it _mon coeur?_ "

He smiled at John indulgently, and John's mouth fell open in shock, head rapidly filling with images of Sherlock uttering those words again and again while lying supine on his back, legs spread wide and mouth open in ecstasy as John pounded in and out of him…

 _Not the time, Watson, not the time._

Rather than respond to his facial expression, Sherlock merely laughed softly and turned his gaze towards the window of the cab, taking in the beautiful ornate buildings and classic style of architecture as they drove through the city center. A few minutes later, the cab finally stopped outside their hotel.

John was the first to disembark, with Sherlock following closely behind him. The pair made their way towards the front desk for check in before climbing the stairs to where their room was. Again, John found himself impressed once he saw the room they'd been assigned for the case.

"This is nice," he said, tossing his luggage aside and flopping down onto the large bed.

"It is," Sherlock took a seat down next to him. "I'm pleasantly surprised."

Glancing upwards at him, John smiled mischievously as he leaned over to rest his hand on the small of Sherlock's back, fingers beginning to trail downwards.

"Going to join me?" he asked.

Sherlock's eyes slid shut for a brief moment, reveling in John's touch, before he popped them open once again and sprung off the bed.

"Afraid not!' he said a little too loudly. "Can't dawdle, case to be solved! Have to go to the Eiffel Tower!"

Grabbing his trademark coat, he dashed out of the room, and John sighed heavily before standing up to follow him. No matter, he told himself. The day wasn't over yet, there was yet enough time to convince Sherlock to get back into that comfy bed.

Picking up his own jacket plus the room key, John followed Sherlock out the front door of the hotel and down the bustling sidewalk full of people. Just as he was convinced he was going to lose him, the detective paused in place and reached back to take hold of John's hand.

"Stay close to me," he said with a smile. "Wouldn't want you getting lost, now would we?"

Despite everything, John couldn't help but smile back at Sherlock as the latter guided him down the busy street. It took a couple minutes for the pair to maneuver their way through all the people, but once they rounded the corner at the end of the block, they finally came upon what they'd been looking for: the Eiffel Tower.

"Oh my god."

John barely had time to look twice at the enormous structure before Sherlock continued to quickly pull him along, closer towards where the tower entrance itself was. A moment later, they were standing right in front of it, and Sherlock paused in place to catch his breath. While he did so, John tilted his head back and looked up at the tower.

"Wow," he said.

"Mmm," agreed Sherlock. "Remarkable, isn't it?"

"I'll say," said John, before stopping and shaking his head quickly. No, no time for gawking. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner they could explore the city, and the sooner John would have Sherlock all to himself again.

"All right then," said John. "What now?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock stole a glance over towards John. "What was that?"

"What do we do now?" John asked. "We're here to solve the case, right?"

"The case?" asked Sherlock.

" _Yes_ , the case!" John stared up at him, dumbfounded and more than a little annoyed. "That's what we came here for, right? To solve the case?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, John."

 _Now_ John was angry. "No idea what I'm talking about?!" he shouted. "You _cannot_ be serious, Sherlock! You drag us all the way to Paris, _bloody_ Paris, to solve a case that, if I'm being honest, you already get _millions_ of in London, on bloody _Valentine's Day_ nonetheless, _not_ the birthday of some _stupid_ astronomer whom nobody but _you_ has ever heard of, and you have the _nerve_ to tell me that you have _**no idea what I'm talking abou**_ _-mmf!"_

Anything John was going to say next completely disappeared from his train of thought when Sherlock strode up to him and pressed his lips against his.

John's eyes widened and his body went stock still as the detective placed his hands on either side of his face and pulled him in for a deep kiss. John blinked a couple of times in shock, before his eyes slid closed and he began kissing Sherlock back in earnest. He'd never been kissed like this before, not by Sarah or Jeanette and certainly not by Mary (her being a murderous assassin and nearly killing Sherlock had pretty much killed any hint of romance between them). It didn't matter anymore though, because Sherlock's kiss was enough to make him forget every single one.

Such a kiss it was that John's knees nearly gave out beneath him and he found himself leaning into his detective for support, one hand coming up to settle on his chest while the other tenderly cupped his jaw, brushing back a stray curl in the process. Once they broke apart, Sherlock cradled John's face in both his hands and looked down at him with a gaze so full of love and tenderness that John was at a complete loss for words.

"Happy Valentine's Day, my love."

John's jaw dropped as he gazed dumbly up at the man he loved. "You…" he managed to say. "You remembered."

"Of course I did," murmured Sherlock tenderly. "I could never forget an entire day dedicated to celebrating the one you love most. It always seemed so trivial to me, but ever since meeting you, I've found myself looking forward to it immensely." He bestowed another kiss onto John's lips and pressed their foreheads together. "Now the only question was the matter of getting you here without drawing suspicion."

"Wait a minute," John drew back a little. "Are you telling me there wasn't a case after all?"

"Oh no, there was," said Sherlock. "I just solved it yesterday over the phone so there would be nothing to impede upon our time together."

"Oh my god," John laughed. "You _planned_ this!"

"I did," Sherlock admitted. "It was not an easy task, but I was lucky to have some help in doing so."

"You mean Greg…?"

"Knew the whole time."

"And you did all of this… for me?"

"All for you." Wrapping John up in his arms, he gave him another soft kiss on the mouth. "I love you, John."

"I love you too, Sherlock," said John with a smile. "Happy Valentine's Day."

The two embraced once again, before Sherlock pulled back and took John by the hand. "Now," he said. "I do believe we are standing near the tallest and most famous structure in all of Paris, and lucky for us, we have tickets. Would you care to join me at the top, Dr. Watson?"

John laughed lightly and entwined his fingers with Sherlock's. "Oh god, yes."

 _THE END_


End file.
